A Spy Loves
by CeliaEquus
Summary: The Ministry's done it again. Another crazy scheme has been started up, leading to a future Hermione never suspected. Usual disclaimers apply. For the "Live, Love, Laugh" challenge.


"A Spy Loves"

Many of the Death Eaters just needed to be rehabilitated, according to the new Minister for Magic. An old piece of magic determined which of them could be redeemed.

In Hermione Granger's opinion, it was a very shaky 'piece of magic', in the same way that Divination was a woolly subject. Of course, her objection could have partly been due to the fact that she got stuck with looking after Augustus Rookwood.

Due to Hermione's fascination with the mysterious aspects of magic, she had applied to be trained as an Unspeakable in the Ministry summer program. She had practised hard, and was lucky enough not only to survive the training program, but to get a job.

"This is part of the reason he was assigned to you," Farthing said. He was the co-ordinator of the Death Eaters Are Redeemable (DEAR) program.

"That's all very well, Andrew," she said, arms crossed. "But I'm one of the Golden Trio."

"Exactly."

"The Ministry's newest Unspeakable."

"Precisely."

"_Female_."

"Hermione," he said, shaking his head, "do you honestly believe that Rookwood will risk making a move on you?"

"Well… no… That's not what I meant."

"Oh?"

"I…" She wasn't going to explain that she wasn't used to living with a strange male. And what if she brought Ron home? Not that she'd ever _sleep_ with him, at least not before marriage, anyway… But it still infringed upon her social life!

"You have been chosen because you are one of the most powerful witches in Britain," he said, leaning across the desk. "You are _the_ Hermione Granger. You'd be setting a good example! He wouldn't dare attack you, because of who you are."

"If it's in the name of revenge, he won't care."

"From what we've heard, he isn't as violent as some others."

"He might try to get information out of me, about my work at the Ministry."

"You wouldn't be able to tell him, or you'd end up in Azkaban for life."

"I'm a Muggleborn."

"Do you have a point?"

"He killed Fred Weasley!" she shouted, knocking the chair to the ground as she stood up. "I can't take him into my home."

"That cannot be proven," Farthing said. She just glared at him, and he sighed. "I know that you're hurting, Hermione. But please see it from this perspective. You are incorruptible; otherwise, we wouldn't have entrusted you to this job. He will be reintegrated into society if all goes well. That said, wouldn't you prefer to know that he will be an upstanding citizen thanks to your influence?"

She sighed, hanging her head. "Fine. Give me his papers."

"_Thank _you," Farthing said, relieved to have that over with. "An unbreakable bracelet has been placed on his ankle, restricting him to harmless spells. He cannot knowingly endanger human life."

"Terrific. So I'll be in charge of the meals as well, in case he uses a poison."

"No. You have been assigned a house elf, who will keep an eye on Rookwood while you are not around, and do the usual household chores, including the cooking." Andrew Farthing looked unbearably pleased with himself, and the whole operation. "Rookwood and Tilly are just out there. Any questions?"

She clenched her teeth. "No."

"Good. Thank you once again, Hermione."

"You're welcome," she said, pushing herself away from the desk. Once she was out the door, Farthing Levitated the chair until it was in the right place, and awaited the next person.

* * *

"…and this will be your bedroom," Hermione said. "Any questions?"

"Not at the moment. Actually," he said, and she paused, turning back to face him, "may I call you Hermione?"

"I suppose. Just _don't _use any of the nicknames that my friends give me, up to and including 'Herms', 'Hermy', and '`Mione'. Using any of those will result in you being hexed. Got it?"

"Duly noted," Rookwood said, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled. "Shall I unpack?"

"Yes. I need to go and get changed out of my work clothes. Call me if you need anything."

"Will do."

Tilly the house elf walked beside Hermione as they left Rookwood's room.

"Miss Hermione, where will Tilly sleep?" she asked.

"In the room beside mine," Hermione said, opening a door. "I wasn't sure what you would need, so I just got some of the usual children's furniture." She chewed her lip. "I hope it's okay."

"Okay?" Tilly asked, her big eyes bulging even further. "Miss Hermione, it is too much for Tilly. Never has a house elf had such a room all to themselves. Do you have another house elf?"

"No. You're my first. I know that most house elves don't like clothes, but I would think that you'd like to dress nicely, if sensibly. If you don't want to accept any clothes, I could Transfigure your pillowcase into something nicer."

"Oh, no! That is not necessary, Miss Hermione."

Hermione sighed. "All right." She tilted her head. "You know, you speak very well."

"That is why Tilly was assigned to Miss Hermione. Miss Hermione would spend too much time teaching a house elf to speak properly. That is what Mr. Farthing says."

"I see," she said, amused. "I hope you will be happy here, Tilly."

"Oh, Tilly knows she will, Miss Hermione. Tilly will be very happy to live here."

"I wish I could say the same," she murmured. "'**Everything has been figured out, except how to live**'."

"That is hardly an optimistic point of view."

She whirled around. "Mr. Rookwood. Are you unpacked?"

"Well, a charm like that isn't likely to hurt anyone else, as long as they're not knocked over by flying clothes," he said. He was smiling again. "Were you quoting someone?"

"Yes, I was. Jean-Paul Sartre. Uh," she looked around, "did you need anything?"

"What time will dinner be?"

"Whenever we feel hungry, I suppose. I make it when I get home from work, and I'm usually starving by then. And then I eat too quickly, which is far from healthy. However, with Tilly here now…"

"Tilly will make whatever you want, Miss Hermione!" the house elf said, ears flapping with delight. "Yes, she will."

"I still need to change. Perhaps we can all meet downstairs in the living room, and decide then," she said, feeling tired. "Okay?"

"Yes, Hermione."

"Of course, Miss Hermione. Come on, Mr. Rookwood."

Hermione hid her grin as she saw Tilly leading Rookwood down the stairs, as though he were a child. Clearly, she wasn't going to have a problem helping him 'rehabilitate'. Maybe that would take most of the responsibility away from her.

She wondered what her friends would say when they heard that she was in charge of Fred's (supposed) murderer?

* * *

Hermione never spoke of her work to Rookwood, but he knew that she was an Unspeakable. Really, could she have expected to keep it from a former Unspeakable, especially the only one in her time ever to have divulged its secrets to an outsider? She still worried about his ability to get information out of people—look at how he used Ludo Bagman!—so she was constantly on edge around him. At least, whenever he spoke to her.

"Hermione," he said one evening, a few weeks into their living arrangements, "have you told your friends about me?"

"You make it sound as though we're secret lovers or something," she said, and she sipped some of her gillywater. Tilly watched them talk, her little legs swinging from the pile of cushions she was sitting on. Hermione had insisted that she eat with them, not wanting her to end up being a recluse like Kreacher.

"Are you being deliberately evasive?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Then you are," he said, smirking as he speared a small pile of spring beans. "I knew it."

"Actually, you're wrong," she said.

"Yes?"

"Yes. I've told them."

"Then why haven't they come over to attack me?"

"Because they know about the program only too well, and also know the consequences of their actions. If they want to stay out of Azkaban, they can't attack any of the Death Eaters who are… in your situation."

"I didn't deliberately kill Fred Weasley, you know," he said quietly. Hermione's fork clattered to her plate.

"Is that so?"

"I was trying to create a distraction, even use some of the pieces of stonework as weapons. The flashing spells disoriented me. I was trying to avoid the people I could see, and instead my aim went wild or, or something. Either way, I didn't mean for him to die in the rock fall. The problem is, I would have been trying to kill people anyway. From my point of view, at the time, it was just luck that he was killed. Now, of course…" He trailed off, and hurriedly ate some more of his dinner. Hermione was silent for a few minutes.

"Things have changed for you?"

"Yes. Especially having lived with you and Tilly." He smiled at the house elf. They were growing quite fond of each other. "It has helped me tremendously. I took the wrong path somewhere in my life, and have paid for it. If I hadn't been threatened, and then…"

"You were threatened?"

"My cousin in France went missing at one point," he said. "She was my only family. So I started giving Ministry secrets to the Dark Lord. After I was convinced how much better life would be if the Muggleborns were eradicated, and went over to their side willingly, Genevieve was released. She… she never spoke to me again." He sighed, and sat back, unable to eat anymore. "But she has a husband and children. I know I did the right thing."

"How do you know about them?"

"Because when she married him, and fell pregnant, she told me not to contact them ever again, since she didn't want her family to be connected to a Death Eater. I don't blame her, although I did at the time. I hated that she was turning her back on me. Me, the man who saved her!" He stood up, knocking his chair back in the process. "If I hadn't done what I did, she wouldn't have her precious Claude!"

"Did you ever hear from them again?"

"No." He hung his head. "She always wanted a big family, so I assume that she had more than one child with him."

"I see." She looked down at the table. "I miss my parents."

"What do you mean?"

"I changed their memories so that they'd forget about me, and move to Australia. Before I joined the Ministry training program, I found them, and removed the charm. They were so angry that they told me to replace it, so I… I did." She sniffed. He looked at her, not speaking. "But I've got my friends, so it doesn't matter."

"Liar. And you clearly don't see your friends socially. You're here all the time when you're not working."

"Well, we have lunch sometimes. Ron's still grieving, and so's Harry."

"Yes." He looked at the fallen chair, and picked it up. "I'll do the dishes."

"No, Mr. Rookwood," Tilly said, hopping down. "Tilly will do the dishes."

"Well, if you're sure."

"Tilly always does the dishes. Mr. Rookwood must finish what he started."

"What is she talking about?" Hermione asked as Tilly Levitated the plates, glasses, and cutlery out of the dining room.

"I've, uh, been decorating my room," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "Do you want to see it?"

"All right," she said, standing. He noticed the caution in her tone. He led her upstairs, and to his bedroom.

"I'm making an effort, and I thought that I'd start here," he said. For the first time, she took in what he had written on the front of his door. It was magical writing, and said: **Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow**. "I heard it, or read it, somewhere. A long time ago. It seemed appropriate."

"It's a good idea. We could paint it onto the door properly if you like, or even carve it."

"No! No, don't do that. Don't make it permanent."

"Why not?"

"W-well, it's your house, isn't it?"

"Yes, which means I can do what I like with it. And I think this is a good idea."

"Oh." He smiled. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Is this the only decoration?"

"I wasn't sure whether you'd approve," he said, opening the door. He waved her inside. She frowned at the magical writing and drawings on the walls. The names of the different parts of the Department of Mysteries were there, and illustrations to go with each of them. He had also magically sketched the layout of the department on the ceiling, as well as a guide to the different doors in the moving room.

"Mr. Rookwood, this really does look suspicious, you know," she said.

"I know. And please call me Augustus. I hate it, but I don't mind you saying it."

"Augustus." He looked pleased, and she sighed. "Look, it's very well done, but I just… It makes me uncomfortable."

"My theory is that, as a former worker in your future department, I could help you learn what you need to know. I don't want to know what you're working on. I only want to help."

"Mmm-hmm?"

"Believe it or not, it's the truth. Don't you see?" he asked, suddenly grasping her hands. She almost leapt back, but he held tight. "I've been given this second chance that I'll only receive once. Strange as it may seem, I want to take that chance, and see where it takes me. First stepping stone on my road to redemption…"

"That's a mixed metaphor."

"Hermione, please."

"…Sorry."

"The first step I'm going to take is to help you be as prepared as you can for working in the Department of Mysteries."

"I suppose." She bit her lip, gazing around at the pictures and words. She also kept her hands in his. "How can you possibly teach me, though?"

"I was one of the top Unspeakables of my time; in fact, in Ministry history," he said proudly. "I'm one of the few who has ever worked for a significant amount of time in each division; except, of course, the Ever-Locked Room. If you can understand each part of the department—_fully_ understand them—then you will go far. I can see you becoming as good as me." He smirked again, and she blushed.

"Thank you for your vote of confidence." Then she realised that he was still holding her hands, and she pulled them away. "I will consider your offer."

"Some," he said as she reached the door, "you will not need to worry about as much. But book knowledge only takes you so far."

She nodded slowly, and left.

* * *

A few days passed, and Rookwood was getting impatient. When Hermione returned home, he leapt down the stairs.

"Have you made a decision or not?" he asked. "Because if you're going to say 'no', say it now so that I can work out something else to do with my time, perhaps something more productive."

She blinked, and looked him up and down. "Very well. I accept your offer."

"…You do?"

"Yes."

"Well, uh… good! When shall we start?"

"I haven't even changed yet. Can you wait until after dinner?"

"Perfect," he said, trying not to bounce on his heels. "I'll be ready."

"But won't you be at dinner?"

"I have to set up my room first," he said, and he grinned before running up the stairs.

"His… room?" she said, frowning. "Oh, yes. The drawings." She sighed. "Tilly?"

Pop! "Yes, Miss Hermione?"

"Could you start dinner, please?"

"Yes, Miss Hermione." She disappeared, and Hermione trudged up the stairs.

* * *

After dinner, lessons began.

"I know that there are twelve doors, and you only have to ask for the room you want. If you close a door, then the rotating room… well, it rotates."

"And you know this from personal experience."

"Yes," she said, scowling. "And I remember who it was who told Voldemort about how to access the prophecy."

He waved his hand dismissively. "The five most important chambers are…?"

"The Space Chamber, the Thought Chamber, the Time Chamber, the Love Chamber, and the… Death Chamber." She shivered, remembering that room. "They are all located within the department, which is on level nine of the Ministry of Magic."

"Correct," he said, leaning against the headboard of his bed. "You must understand these things to do your work. If you can understand all of them, you will be miles ahead of others your age."

"I understand them."

"How well?"

"I've read all about them."

He rolled his eyes. "Explain the concept of space."

"It's about the solar system. I learned about space at Muggle school, and at Hogwarts. What else could there be to learn?"

He leant forward. "It is not only about the stars and planets, Hermione. It is about room. But the stars and planets will be a good start. Come," he said, standing up. He held out his hand, and pulled her to her feet. "Good thing you have a decent-sized backyard."

"What are we doing?"

"Do you appreciate the moon?"

"I was attacked by a werewolf once."

"Oh." He slowed. "Well, we'll go back to the stars, then. Do you have Omnioculars? Actually, no." He pulled her down the stairs with him. "Use your eyes."

"Be careful!"

"I'll catch you if you fall. Come along, Hermione."

* * *

Once they were outside, he led her to the middle of the lawn, and lay down. Again, he tugged at her, and she fell on top of him.

"Hello," he said, grinning up at her. She coloured, and rolled off his body.

"That was…"

"Nice?"

"Uncalled for. Inappropriate."

"Look up, Hermione. Look at the sky."

She looked up obediently, and gasped. What was different?

"Have you ever looked at the stars without studying for class? When was the last time you looked at them simply for pleasure?"

"Not since I was a young girl," she whispered.

"Now stay silent, and just look at them. Relax," he said, his voice dropping in volume. "Enjoy it."

While Hermione stared at the night sky, Rookwood gazed at her. There were two nights before the full moon, so her face was gently illuminated. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her as she lay there, soaking in the cool air and the darkness. He sighed softly, but she didn't notice. Finally, he turned away to look at the heavens as well. This was one of his favourite things to do, but Hermione stayed indoors so often that he could only look from his window. He hadn't wanted to tear her away from her books, since they made her so happy, and she deserved it for having to put up with him. But, if she enjoyed this, perhaps they could do it more often?

An hour later, he turned his head to look at her.

"Hermione?" He rolled over, and touched her shoulder. "Hermione? Are you awake?"

She wasn't.

He smiled, and got to his knees. Slipping one arm beneath her knees and one under her back, he picked her up. He cradled her as he stood, and carried her inside. He found Tilly in the living room, dusting.

"Could you lock up, Tilly? Hermione fell asleep outside, so I'm going to put her to bed."

"Of course, Mr. Rookwood. Is Miss Hermione all right?"

"Yes," he said, looking at the young woman in his arms. "She's perfect."

Tilly smiled to herself. Did he know that he was in love with the mistress?

Rookwood placed Hermione on her bed, and gently pulled the covers out from underneath her body. He tucked her in, and then stroked her cheek.

"We will continue the lesson tomorrow," he said, even though he knew that she couldn't hear him. "Or perhaps…"

He tilted his head, and then shrugged. It was worth a try. Just as long as he woke up before she did. Just in case, he cast a Silencing Charm on her, and placed his wand on the bedside table. He pulled off her shoes and socks, and then removed his own. He then removed his shirt, threw it onto a chair, and slipped into the bed beside her. He was uncertain in his movements as he slipped one arm around her waist, wanting to pull her close, but unsure if he could stop himself from going too far.

Despite his nerves, he still fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

In the morning, he woke up first, and sighed in relief. Then he looked down.

He was on his back, and Hermione had somehow ended up draped over his naked upper body, one leg hooked over both of his. Her left hand was placed on his right upper arm, head on his shoulder, and her other hand resting on his chest. He looked closer, and saw a tiny smile on her face. Lastly, he realised that both of his arms were holding her against him possessively. She was so warm and soft through the fabric. Where her head was resting, he only had to dip his head a few inches to place his lips on her forehead.

With that simple touch, she woke up. She looked at him, and they were seconds away from kissing. But she pulled back, her mouth open in a scream. When she realised that no sound was coming out, she looked just about ready to panic. He grabbed his wand, and she shrank back.

"I can't hurt you, remember?" he said, hurt that she was trembling in fear. "Finite Incantatem."

She sniffled. "Why… what did…"

"You fell asleep last night, so I brought you up here."

"And I suppose you happened to fall asleep here by accident, your shirt having mysteriously disappeared?"

"No. Tell me," he moved closer, "how do you feel about me being this close to you?"

"Scared. Uncomfortable."

"And do you feel less uncomfortable," he said, slipping out of the bed, "if I'm here?"

"Y-yes."

"What about here?" he asked, standing further away. "Better?"

"Yes."

"And what about on the other side of the room? You prefer that, don't you?"

"Yes, I do," she said.

"It would be different if I was, say, Ronald Weasley?"

"Yes," she said, ducking her head. "It would."

"Hmph." He cleared his throat. "When I was close to you, and you had nowhere to go, how did you feel?"

"Nervous. Trapped."

"Exactly. If it was in the middle of the room, and you could have run anywhere else, you would have felt less nervous."

"That's true."

"Do you realise the importance and effectiveness of space now?"

Her eyes lit up. "Oh! I see. Yes, I do."

"Here endeth the first lesson," he said. He Summoned his shoes, socks, and shirt. "Good morning, Hermione."

"Good morning… Augustus."

"Next lesson after dinner tonight?" She nodded. "Good. See you at breakfast."

* * *

"Where. Are. My. Books?"

"In my room," he said.

"But I thought you said that the lesson was going to be in the living room."

"It is. You don't need books."

"I know. But… why aren't they here?"

"There is _one_."

"Yes," she said, looking at the coffee table. "A Latin dictionary."

"Most spells are based on Latin."

"I know."

"Hermione, you know what Severus once said about you?" he asked, twirling his wand as she sat beside him.

"Do I want to know?"

"He said that you were a walking textbook, without an original thought in your head."

She looked at her hands. "There is no room for original thoughts at school. You just do what you're supposed to do, and not change the curriculum to suit yourself."

"Is that the reason you were jealous when Potter was doing well in Potions, and you weren't?"

"He wasn't following the book's original instructions!"

"And yet," he said, "he was top of the class that year."

"I presume the lesson tonight is on Thought."

"Correct. Now. What kind of spell would be useful, one which you've never encountered?"

"I don't know. Everything's covered."

"Really?"

"Yes!"

"I challenge you to think of a spell that has never been invented, and invent it."

"I can't do that," she said.

"Lucius said that it was a pity that Draco was beaten in every class either by your or by Potter. If anyone can create a new spell, it is you." He stood up. "I'll be in the garden if you need me… if that's all right."

"O-of course."

"Thank you. And don't give up the first time. Try different wand movements. Go by instinct."

"Augustus? Have you ever created a spell?"

He nodded. "I'll show it to you one day, if you like. But, in the meantime, study." He grinned, and walked out the back door. Hermione set to work.

* * *

"Fortificus!" she said, waving her wand at the paper. Two swishes and a point. A blue light hit the paper, which she had folded to look like a chair. She had used a plain piece of paper to make it, and enlarged it until it was the same size as the dining room chairs. Rookwood nodded approvingly. She indicated that he sit down. Without question, he plonked onto the surface. Hermione winced, but he remained unconcerned. The paper held, as strong as wood. She smiled, and he waved her over. She yelped as he pulled her into his lap; the paper chair still stayed unaffected.

"Well done, Hermione," he said. "I said that you could do it. Now you should register the spell with the Ministry. They'll pay you for it."

"Thank you," she said, blushing with pride.

"Is there a counter spell?"

"Just Finite Incantatem."

"Better stand up before doing that," he said.

"Oh! Yes. Sorry." She stood up, reddening further. He stood as well. "Finite Incantatem."

The chair remained standing. But when Rookwood pressed down on the seat of the chair, it collapsed.

"Is there any time limit on the spell? Will it wear off after awhile?"

"I don't know."

"You should work out the mechanics of the spell first. It's Sunday tomorrow, so you can do it then."

"Thank you for making me do this," she said, looking at the floor. "You've been very kind."

"**Love is the only force capable of turning an enemy into a friend**," he said. She stared at him in shock. "And I want to be your friend, Hermione."

"You quoted Martin Luther King Junior."

"I did. You have an extensive collection of books, and I have nothing better to do at the moment, since Tilly doesn't need my help with the housework."

"Oh. Well, I suppose we could be friends if you really want to."

"I'd like that."

* * *

Hermione's hours at the Ministry were erratic, and she took her days off very seriously. She was surprised when Rookwood got her up early.

"We've got a busy and boring day ahead of us," he said.

"Good morning to you, too. Now go away."

"No." He pulled back her covers, and looked away when he saw that her pyjamas consisted of shorts and a singlet. He heard the rustle as she pulled the covers back on.

"Fine. Could you please hand me my dressing gown?"

"Of course. Here."

"Thank you. Well, what are you waiting for?"

"Oh." He hurried out into the hallway, and pressed against the door, shutting it with his back. Tilly was coming out of her room. "Tilly, when you're ready, could we have breakfast? We're going to Diagon Alley today."

"Very good, Mr. Rookwood. Tilly will start now."

* * *

"You're lucky the Ministry is so generous," Hermione muttered as Rookwood dragged her along.

"We're going to Gringotts first, and then to Flourish and Blotts."

"They won't be open yet."

"Gringotts will be. I want to take you shopping. Buy as many books are you want."

"You must be joking," she said, wide-eyed. "You cannot buy redemption."

"But you can buy books. Come along."

They were rushed through at Gringotts, and then they got to the bookstore just as it was opening.

"You have three hours here," he said. "Choose whichever books you want. Take your time; as I said, you have three hours. I'll carry them for you."

Four hours later, Rookwood pulled Hermione to the counter. She apologised for going over time, but he merely chuckled. He had told Tilly that they would be having lunch out, and that she could join them if she wanted. She refused, and insisted that he and Hermione have lunch together.

Of course, their lunch kept getting interrupted by various people. It wasn't until half-past two that they managed to get away. Instead of letting Hermione put away the books, however, Rookwood made her sit down on the couch with him.

"Well? What now?" she asked.

"Your lesson on Time is only half over."

"I used a Time-Turner in my third year, to take all of the classes," she said. He looked surprised. "Do I really need to learn about time?"

"Well, you certainly have an advantage over the others, in that respect. But this is a different lesson. Now, stay where you are, and be quiet. Don't leave this couch. Don't speak. Just see how long you will last."

"Can I read?"

"No. Do nothing except relax."

"But… that's boring."

"I did warn you."

"But…"

"Hermione, do I have to tie you down and cast a Silencing Charm on you?"

"You can't do that."

"I can, as long as it doesn't hurt you. And I can do it so that it won't hurt."

"Fine."

After half an hour, she was tapping her foot on the floor. Rookwood stepped on it, and she glared at him. She opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head. She rolled her eyes, folded her arms, and turned away from him. He released her foot, and sat back.

Another half hour passed. He poked her once to stop her from falling asleep.

Three minutes later, she cracked.

"I can't stand it!" she shouted. "Time's just dragging on."

"But it didn't this morning. You went an hour over time in the bookshop. It really does show the accuracy of the expression 'time flies when you're enjoying yourself'."

"I already knew that."

"Did you ever take the time to experiment with the boring side, though?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it's boring, and a waste of…" She bit her lower lip.

"Time."

"All right, all right. You've made your point."

"Good." He stood up. "Dinner? We can review what you've learned so far."

"Okay."

"And then that will be it."

"What?" She hurried after him. "What about Love and Death?"

"You're still young."

"I've seen both," she said, grabbing his arm. "I love Ron, and I've faced death."

He refused to look at her. "I see. So you think that you have a true understanding of both?"

"Yes," she said, raising her chin. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

"Very well. But we shall see."

With that, he walked into the dining room, leaving behind a very confused Hermione Granger.

* * *

Hermione had been working at the Ministry for a month when she came home in tears.

"What's the matter?" Rookwood asked, looking up from his desk. He was working on a memoir about his time as someone involved in the DEAR program. Hermione couldn't answer; she just shook her head, and fell to her knees. He knocked over his chair in his haste to get to her. Wrapping her in his arms, he rocked her back and forth, waiting until she was ready to talk.

"Ron… he dumped me," she said. "He doesn't trust me. That's what he says anyway."

"Fame's gone to his head," he said. "You'll see. He'll have some war groupie on his arm next week."

Hermione pulled away from him, and slapped him across the face. He looked at her in shock as she stood up.

"Well, thank you _very_ much," she hissed. "You've made me feel _so_ much better."

"Hermione…"

"No, really. It's nice to know how valuable I am."

"You _are_ valuable, you silly girl," he said, following her as she ran up the stairs to her room. "I'm trying to point out how shallow his feelings are. The boy's a fool. You deserve much better."

"Ha!"

"It's true, Hermione." He stopped the door from slamming in his face, and walked in after her. "So you still think that you understand love?"

"Go away!" She threw a pillow at him, but he dodged it easily.

"No."

"Leave me alone. Just leave me alone."

"No." He backed her up against the bed, and she reached for her wand. "He isn't worth crying over."

"And what about my broken heart? Isn't _that_ worth crying over?" she asked. He grabbed her wrist.

"**There is no remedy for love but to love more**," he said. She looked confused. "Henry David Thoreau. You must read your books, Hermione." He easily pulled her wand from her limp hand, threw it behind him, and kissed her.

* * *

"You know perfectly well," she said, pointing at him with the test. "There was no one else before you, and there's been no one else after. It was a mistake, the whole thing was a mistake, but we have to face the consequences."

"I don't understand what happened," he said. "Really, Hermione. I cast the contraceptive charm. You saw me do it!"

"I know," she said, sinking into the dining chair opposite him. "But it's positive. I've done both Muggle and magical tests. Damn it." She sunk her head onto her arms. "I should have cast the spell myself."

His eyes were wide. "Oh, sweet mother of Merlin. You should have."

"Don't tell me you can't do it?"

"Once upon a time, I could. Before an anklet was placed on my leg to prevent me from using any harmful magic."

"Harmful… harmful magic?"

"Yes."

"Rookwood, what's harmful about… oh."

He nodded. "If the spell had worked, it would have stopped a baby from being born. The anklet must have thought that harmful." Hermione started to cry. "Oh, gods. I'm so sorry, Hermione. I should have realised." He went around to her side of the table, and sat beside her. "For what it's worth, it was wonderful. You were wonderful."

"I was inexperienced."

"I wish you'd let me back into your bed. We could remedy that problem."

"Oh, _please_," she said, standing up and walking away. "You just wanted to get your revenge on the famous war heroine who helped bring about your master's death, under the pretence of helping me through a break-up."

"That's not true. How can you say that?"

"You haven't changed," she said, glaring at him. "And you never will, Rookwood."

"I did. I changed for you. For _you_, Hermione."

"Why would you bother doing that?"

"Because," he said, "believe it or not, I love you." She turned away. "It's true. I can't believe it, but I fell in love with you… oh, I'd say about halfway through the battle. This was even before I caused that stonework to fall. I saw you fighting, and fell in love with you in that moment. I'd seen you before, seen your picture before, too. Heard all about you. When I heard that I was going to be living here, it gave me the incentive to change, to redeem myself. Believe me. I. Love. You."

"No."

"Hermione, _please_…"

"I didn't want this to happen," she said. "Didn't want to take you in. I _knew_ I'd regret it."

He scowled, reaching for his wand. However, he forced his hand back. Even if he didn't have the anklet, he could never hurt her. Not on purpose. "If you're so damn against the idea, have the child aborted."

She whirled around, horrified, tears staining her cheeks. "I couldn't. I couldn't get rid of my child."

"_Our_ child."

"That's just cruel. I won't."

"Hermione, it isn't even formed yet," he said, stepping forward. She backed up, and he sighed. "Hermione, my love, it isn't a baby."

"Don't you see? This child is part of me. I won't let anyone hurt it, least of all you." She placed her arms protectively over her stomach. "I love it."

He laughed bitterly. "You wouldn't even condemn to death a child who would be shunned by society for being a Death Eater's bastard?"

"No," she said. "That is something _you_ would do." He froze. "I _hate_ you, Augustus Rookwood."

He half-slumped, as though to slump all the way would show weakness. "Very well. I congratulate you, Miss Granger."

"On what?"

"You have learned your last two lessons. To learn about death, you must learn about life. That is from our… your child." He turned away. "And to learn about love, you must also learn hate. That… that is both. You love your child… and you hate its father."

He made for the doorway. "I'll wait upstairs until someone can reassign me. Or, if you prefer, you can tell them that it was rape, and they can put me in Azkaban where… where I truly belong." He put one foot on the staircase. "I guess some Death Eaters really are irredeemable, aren't they? But know this, Hermione. I will… I will _never_ stop loving you, nor that child." He threw his Gringotts key down the stairs. "My money is yours. I won't need it anymore."

She watched him pause halfway up the stairs, before he ran the rest of the way, slamming his bedroom door behind him. Tilly poked her head out of the bathroom, where she had been cleaning.

"Miss Hermione?" she called. "What is the matter? Can Tilly help? Why is Mr. Rookwood slamming his door?"

"Oh, Tilly," Hermione said, and then she slid down the doorframe to the floor. Resting her head on her arms, she sobbed.

* * *

Rookwood was in Azkaban. No one else had wanted to take a Death Eater, so he had volunteered to return to prison. The only thing that kept him sane was memories of Hermione: star-gazing with her; sleeping with her; making love to her; buying books for her. Even sitting around, doing nothing. That one hour of boredom was the best hour of boredom he had ever spent in his life, and he pretended to relive it as he suffered through loneliness for five months.

Tilly, who had only been assigned to Hermione while Rookwood was there, had become a free elf, and was now officially being employed by Hermione. She visited him each month. What surprised her was that he refused to talk about Hermione, and just fell silent if Tilly mentioned her. So the elf instead brought along cleaning things, and helped him keep his cell 'nice and tidy, Mr. Rookwood, just in case'.

They never talked about the baby, either.

One day, he had a different visitor.

"Come to punish me for killing your friend's brother?" he asked, not even looking up.

"No," Harry said. "Just to ask you why you haven't written back."

"Oh, you've been writing to me? How kind." He sneered, and Harry frowned.

"I meant Hermione. You haven't been writing to her."

"Why should I?"

"Because she wants to know how you are."

"In that case," he said, scowling at the young man, "she can damn well write to me herself, and ask!"

"I'm… I'm confused."

"I bet you are."

"No. I mean, she _has_ been writing to you."

"Is that so? Then tell me, Mr. Potter. Why have I received no letter?"

Harry gaped. "You really haven't gotten anything, have you?"

"Of course not. If I thought…" He looked at his feet. He knew he was about to cry. He couldn't cry. Not here. Not in front of The Chosen One. "If I thought, for one moment, that she was concerned about me, do you really think I wouldn't respond? I love her," he whispered. Harry heard it clearly.

"You're the baby's father, aren't you? Not some random bloke she shagged in a pub?"

"Is that what she's saying? That is was a one-night stand with a stranger? Well, that's… considerate of her." He nodded. "Yes, I'm the father. I didn't know, when I took her, that… well, I thought Weasley would have deflowered her early on."

"Hermione's a good girl," Harry said. "You really love her?" Rookwood nodded. "Bloody hell. So DEAR actually works."

"Look, Hermione may have told you about some letters, but I honestly never received anything."

"I believe you. Excuse me. I've got to check this out."

"Potter?" Harry paused. "Don't bother. I'm no good for her. She doesn't care about me, not the way I care about her."

He smiled. "You haven't seen her the past five months. It's not just pregnancy hormones." He left, and Rookwood sat there, stunned. What did he mean?

"Don't get your hopes up, mate," he muttered. "Just forget about her. Forget about… them."

* * *

Hermione glared at Ron across the table. "I keep telling you, no."

"Hermione, that child has to have a father."

"You'd be the last person I'd want filling that role. You broke up with me, remember? And now, because you've slept with every other young, single witch in London, you want to come crawling back because you think that I need help. That I need support. Well, I _don't_. I don't need you, and I don't want you."

Just then, Harry Apparated into the room. He looked furious, and was clutching some crumpled pieces of parchment in his left hand. Ron's eyes bugged out.

"Uh…"

"Don't explain it to me, Ron. Explain to Hermione why _these_ were found in your desk at work. And explain to Hermione why you had arranged to have all of Rookwood's correspondence forwarded to you." He threw them onto the table. Ron stood up, and backed away from Hermione. She looked from the letters, to him. He swallowed.

"Look, I did it for your own good…"

"No, you didn't! You did it for your own damn, selfish reasons!" she shouted. "Get out of my house before I kill you, and blame it on hormones!"

For once, Ron did the smart thing, and Disapparated. Hermione sank back onto the chair.

"He didn't know, Hermione. Rookwood didn't know. He said he would've replied if he'd got your letters. He thought you didn't care."

"Harry, I really didn't mean to fall in love with him," she said, looking at him through her fingers. "It just… _happened_."

"Right now, that man's falling further into despair. You said that Tilly's been worried."

"She would be."

"Go to Azkaban."

"I can't. I can't risk the baby." She placed her hand on the slight bulge. "Harry, I want him so much. I want him back in our lives. I'll never forgive myself for throwing him out like that, for letting him leave, for…"

"You two are a right pair, aren't you?" He smiled as she giggled, wiping away her tears. "I'll sort it out."

"Thanks, Harry. Will you… will you take him the letters? You know… just in case."

"No," he said. "You can say everything you want to say to his face."

"But… what if he hates me?"

"Hermione. Just. Wait."

* * *

When Rookwood came home—brought by Harry, who immediately left again—he saw that Hermione was asleep on the couch. Tilly came creeping in, but squealed when she saw her 'master'.

"Mr. Rookwood is back!" she said.

"Shh, Tilly. I don't want Hermione to wake up."

It was too late, however. She was groaning as she moved, rubbing at her sleepy eyes.

"Tilly? What's going on?" she asked. The elf squeaked, and with a Pop! she left. Hermione sat up, and froze when she saw who had returned.

"Hello," he said. His eyes lit up when he saw the bulge where their child was forming. He stepped forward, hesitant. "Uh, Harry said that there was a misunderstanding." She nodded. "Did you really send letters?"

"They're on the dining room table."

"…Right. I'll go and read them, then."

"No; wait!" She stood up. "Augustus, please listen to me. I'm so sorry for everything I said. I was…"

"Perfectly right to say what you did," he said, holding up a hand. "It's very kind of you to inquire after me, and to let me come ho… come back." His eyes flickered to her stomach again, and then back to her face. "I want to help, but I'll understand if you want me to leave after it's born."

"A boy."

"A boy?"

"I found out yesterday. Tilly knows, but I haven't told anyone else."

He smiled. "I'd like a son." His smile faded. "Can I at least help name him?"

"That day," she said, moving forward, "when Ron ended our relationship, why did you make love to me? Why were you gentle?"

"It was your first time," he said, looking away.

"But you said you loved me."

"I did. I… I do."

"Elbert Hubbard once said that '**The love we give away is the only love we keep**'," she said. Finally, she was close enough to place a hand on his arm. "You gave me your love, didn't you?"

"Yes. But I didn't keep it."

"You didn't need to," she said, moving her hands to his. "Because you've got mine."

"I've got…"

"You've got mine. I love you."

He smiled again, slowly. "Really?"

"Yes! I lost you, and then I loved you. It's now that I understand love. Now, thanks to you."

She stepped into his embrace, and he held her as tightly as he dared. He was never going to let her go.

_**

* * *

**_

A DEAR RESULT

_Two years after the Death Eaters Are Redeemable program began, one of its greatest success stories celebrated the occasion by marrying his former carer._

_In attendance at the wedding of Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass were the newlywed Augustus and Hermione Rookwood, and their son, Evan Rookwood. Mr. Rookwood is another success of the Ministry's ambitious initiative. Their controversial marriage took place two months before their son was born._

_Also in attendance was Harry Potter, and his fiancé Ginny Weasley…_

**

* * *

**

Bet you weren't expecting that, eh?

**This story was written for The "Live, Laugh, Love" Challenge, over in the forums. I seem to be stuck in another phase at the moment, where I'm pairing poor Hermione with various Death Eaters. Well, at least I'm doing things that no one else has done (yet).**

**Who knows? Maybe I'll plot another story starring these two, set in (groan!) the past.**

**Please review!**

**NOTE: I've just edited this story, since I found mistakes in it when I was reading it through. Disgraceful. I thought I was more careful than that.**


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